


A Bane and Barsad Christmas Story

by Baniac



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-09 01:46:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5520833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baniac/pseuds/Baniac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bane has vowed to make this a special Christmas for Talia, but that means he might have to do something he really does not want to do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bane and Barsad Christmas Story

            “So,” Bane sighed with feigned suffering, “I must endure your usual Christmas lament again, brother?”

            “I’m just saying sunny and twenty-two degrees Celcius is not my idea of Christmas.” Barsad leisurely blew cigarette smoke over the veranda railing.

            Bane sat in a white wicker chair, which matched the one Barsad sprawled in, a small table for refreshments between them. The coffee there, however, was for Barsad alone, for Bane wore his pain-relieving, mechanical mask. To drink would require him to inject himself with morphine to quiet his chronic pain while the mask was removed, an inconvenience he did not currently desire. His breakfast would be served soon; he would remove the mask and drink then.

            “Besides,” Barsad gave him a sidelong grin, “it’s the only time I miss home, so, yeah, you have to listen.” He took another drag on his cigarette, making sure when he exhaled that he did so downwind of his hulking commander. “There will be snow back in West Virginia this time of year, especially in the mountains. Now, I know you lived in the Himalayas for several years, but it’s a shame you’ve never seen the mountains that surround the valley where I grew up. Beautiful and tranquil, not harsh and rocky like the Himalayas.” Barsad nodded to himself with satisfaction.

            Though Barsad’s blue gaze drifted out over the _sahn_ , a courtyard that included their guesthouse, Bane could tell his friend was seeing those West Virginia mountains, not the sprawling palatial compound surrounding them. Perhaps Barsad was even imagining the cold breath of those mountains, not the dry heat of Rajasthan, India, blowing in from the nearby Thar Desert.

            Bane’s own attention reached to the six-story palace several courtyards distant, a place that had once been home to a woman he had loved. She had lived there before being condemned to prison for marrying an infidel. Melisande had never returned to her home, for she had been murdered in that subterranean prison, a place where Bane had been born and raised, where they had first met. Melisande’s mother, Maysam, lived in the palace still, along with her brother-in-law, Amir, and his wife. Amir’s warlord status in the region and far-reaching enterprises provided the wealth required to maintain his dead brother’s estate. Amir had many reasons not to want Bane and Barsad as guests, but Maysam insisted that this always be a refuge for them…and for her only grandchild, Talia.

            “I will indulge you, brother,” Bane said to Barsad. “What, pray tell, is it about Christmas that makes a non-believer like you so nostalgic?”

            “Sure, Christmas is a Christian holiday, but it’s more than that. Growing up, it was about Santa Claus and gifts. And food. My mother is a great cook. But it was also about getting out of school and having time with friends to sled and hunt and get into trouble.” He crushed out the remains of his cigarette in a tray on the table. “We’d decorate the house. Pop even stayed sober enough to put colored lights on the outside without falling off the ladder. We always had a fresh-cut tree, a big one. Made the house smell so good…except for the time my brother accidentally set it on fire.” He chuckled at the memory.

            It pleased Bane to see Barsad smile at the memory of his brother, for more often talk of his elder sibling, long dead now, made his friend melancholy. After all, it had been a bullet from Barsad’s own hunting rifle that had accidentally killed his brother.

            On the table, Bane’s cell phone vibrated and rang. Expecting one of his lieutenants from the League of Shadows, a clandestine organization in which he was second-in-command to Talia, he was surprised by the number he saw displayed.

            “Talia,” he said to Barsad, instantly turning his friend’s scruffy face.

            Bane picked up the phone. “Hello.”

            A momentary pause. “Hello, Haris,” Talia said, using the Arabic name her grandmother had bestowed upon him. It was a safety precaution, for government agencies throughout the world, like the CIA, knew him only as Bane. He was one of the world’s most wanted men. Even before rejoining the League of Shadows, he had gained a reputation as a powerful mercenary, highly sought after and hired by anti-establishment clients in various countries over the years. Nor did he ever use Talia’s name on the phone, neither her true name nor that of Miranda Tate, the identity she had adopted for her secret mission in Gotham.

            “I hope you are calling to say you have arrived early at the airport,” Bane said with an anticipatory smile behind his mask.

            “No. Unfortunately I’ve been delayed by work, so I haven’t left home yet. I will fly out in about two hours.”

            “I’m very sorry to hear that, _habibati_. Your grandmother will be as disappointed as I am.”

            “Tell _Jiddah_ I’m sorry.”

            “There is no need; she will understand.”

            “So now I won’t arrive until late Christmas Eve. I had so hoped to spend it with all of you. Deadshot came with you, yes?”

            “He is here. Right next to me, actually.”

            She made a small, wistful sound. “I bet it’s sunny and warm there.”

            “Indeed. And it will be the same when you arrive. Soon you will leave the winter cold behind. I only wish we had more than a handful of days together. But, alas, we all have much to keep us busy elsewhere.”

            “Yes,” she said with a sigh.

            Bane stood. “You sound tired, _habibati_. Can you not sleep a bit before your flight?”

            “I will sleep on the plane.”

            For the first time he noticed soft music in the background. “You are in your penthouse?”

            “Yes. I’m relaxing a bit with a glass of wine and some Christmas music. Though I hate Gotham, I must say the lights of the city are beautiful right now. Fitting for the season.”

            Bane imagined her stretched out on her couch, dressed in something warm and comfortable, her long dark hair tousled, a fire ablaze in the hearth, its light mirrored by her wine glass and her large sapphire eyes.

            He left the veranda and entered Barsad’s spacious room. He considered retreating to the privacy of his suite across the hall, but when he saw that Barsad had no intention of leaving the veranda, he settled on the edge of the bed. The softness of the mattress eased his scarred back.

            “I wish I were with you to see what you are seeing, _habibati_.”

            “I do, too.” Talia paused. “I was thinking earlier about my first Christmas; do you remember it?”

            “Of course.” He smiled at the thought of her as a toddler in Melisande’s prison cell; it seemed a lifetime ago.

            “You told me about Christmas and Santa Claus. Of course, being a Muslim, Mama had never talked about such things.”

            Bane remembered the night well. Talia had come to his cell for a bedtime story and begged him for a new tale, something fresh. Being around the winter solstice, Bane had decided to tell her what his mother had told him about Christmas. Though his mother had been a Christian and had shared her faith with him, after her death when he was thirteen he had thought no more of religion of any kind. Day-to-day survival had been enough to occupy his mind and body.

            “Remember how I drew a Christmas tree with chalk on the floor of my cell?” she said, some of the fatigue lifting from her voice.

            He chuckled. “Yes, you thought that would convince Santa Claus to visit you.”

            “And he did, remember? He brought me a stuffed toy dog.”

            “A very poorly-made one, as I recall.”

            “Nonsense. It was wonderful. And then the dragon on another Christmas. And you told me that one day my dragon would fly me out of the pit.” Now she, too, chuckled at the silliness of their meager efforts at happiness in that horrible dark place where hope itself had been absent.

            “I prefer to think of the Christmases at our mountain home,” Bane said, “with our brothers and your father. He said not a man there cared a whit about holidays until you arrived and begged him that first year for the biggest tree we could cut and drag back up the mountain. I’m not sure who enjoyed decorating it more—you or our brothers.”

            “Akar loved it, remember? Especially when he got to put the star at the top. He bravely climbed that ladder with only his one poor arm and the star in his teeth.”

            Pain twisted Bane’s stomach when he thought of the one-eyed Bhutanese serving boy. Even after all these years, he still mourned the gentle boy’s murder, along with all those who lived at the League of Shadow’s mountain base. Only Talia’s father, Rā’s al Ghūl, had survived. All the others had been blown to bits by treacherous Gotham billionaire Bruce Wayne, a man whom Talia and Bane had every intention of destroying, as their current plans for Gotham proceeded.

            “Remember how beautifully Passat played his violin on Christmas Eve?” she asked.

            Bane heard her sip her wine. He closed his eyes, saw her beautiful lips, remembered the silky feel of them against his skin during their first sexual encounter, his last night at their mountain home, before he was exiled by Talia’s father.

            “When he used to play ‘Lo, How A Rose E’er Blooming,’ I always thought of Mama,” Talia continued softly.

            “It is a beautiful song, like your mother.”

            “Yes. It always brings tears to my eyes.”

            Bane hesitated. “I sense sadness in you, _habibati_. Is there anything I can do?”

            “I’m fine, and I’ll be even better once I’m with you and _Jiddah_. I need time away. This wretched city wears on me.”

            “I know. I wish you were not there.”

            “But it’s necessary, as we both know.”

            “Yes, but I fear it’s evil will poison you.”

            “Have no fear of that, Haris. I am stronger than Gotham and its corrupt influences.” She sipped more wine, and he heard a faint _chink_ as she set the glass down on her glass coffee table. Though Bane had never been inside her Uptown penthouse—nor ever would be—he knew every inch of it from his men assigned to her security detail, and he had seen photos of it before Talia had moved in two years ago. “Well,” she sighed, “I should let you go. I must call _Jiddah_ to let her know I’ll be late, and I also have a couple more things to pack…including your gift.”

            “ _Habibati_ , there is no need for gifts. Seeing you in the flesh is the only thing I desire in this world.”

            “Don’t fuss,” she chided. “It’s something practical. You aren’t exactly the easiest man to shop for, _habibi_.” She chuckled. “Other than yarn for your crochet, that is.”

            “I can always use more of that. Deadshot complains that I am difficult to live with if I do not regularly practice the craft your mother taught me.”

            When she softly laughed, he smiled, pleased that the mood had lightened.

            “I will see you soon, Haris.”

            “Safe travels, _habibati_. I am counting the minutes.”

            After ending the call, Bane lumbered back out to the balcony.

            “Something wrong?” Barsad asked, still lounging in his chair, a man who was rarely excitable, a valuable quality in a sniper.

            Settling into his chair, Bane said, “Talia has been delayed. She won’t arrive until late tonight.”

            Barsad frowned. “Sorry to hear that, brother, especially for your sake…and Maysam’s. Did Talia let her know?”

            “She’s calling her now.” His attention drifted to the distant palace. “I would like this to be a special Christmas for Talia.”

            “Really?” Barsad teased. “Mr. Bah-humbug?”

            “Gotham is draining her; Miranda Tate is draining her. She sounded emotionally weary. Her visit here must renew her. That is our mission, brother.”

            Barsad eyed him mischievously, a crooked grin amidst the stubble on his face. “Well, I’m sure some time in your bed will put a bit of zip in her step.”

            Bane flashed him a displeased look. “Always the guttersnipe, brother. Try your best to be serious for one moment.”

            “Now, Bane, I think you have enough seriousness for the both of us.”

            “Barsad,” he growled.

            “All right, all right. Serious. OK, you got it.” He drew a contemplative hand across his chin, making a raspy noise.

            “She was reminiscing about our Christmases when she was a child. You’ve heard me speak of those times, so I won’t repeat myself, but I can say in all honesty that those memories, especially when we were living in the mountains with her father, are some of her happiest, as they were for me. I would give anything to bring such things back to life for her.”

            “Well, if it’s a memorable Christmas you’re looking for, brother, then leave it to me. I’ll put a smile on Talia’s face. After all, I’m the one who grew up with Christmas and all its trappings.”

            “What do you have in mind?”

            “I said leave it to me. I know you’re a control freak, brother, but just this once allow me to take the reins. You won’t be disappointed, and neither will Talia.”

            Bane considered his friend’s eager smile. Their daily lives were arduous and dangerous, yet somehow through it all Barsad managed to keep his good nature intact, even with a demanding commander who was often in dark moods. Though of course he had never verbalized such sentiment, Bane loved Barsad not just as a brother-in-arms, but also as the closest thing to a blood brother he would ever have. They had been through much together since that long ago day when Maysam had introduced them. Bane had just been excommunicated from the League and had been looking for a new path in life. Barsad had agreed to take him to Kashmir where they fought side by side in the Kargil War. They had been inseparable ever since.

            “Very well, John,” Bane said at last. “I will leave Christmas in your hands, if for no other reason than to liberate you from your belief that I must control everything, including a holiday.”

#

            While Barsad shared breakfast with Maysam and her brother, Ayman, at the palace, Bane ate alone in the guesthouse. Always he refused to eat in front of Maysam; he would never subject her to the grotesqueness of his mutilated visage without the mask, especially when at table. After eating, he ambled to the palace to join them for a visit. Though he and Barsad had arrived yesterday, they had seen Maysam only briefly, so he looked forward to talking with Talia’s grandmother at greater length today.

            Maysam, a widow now, was a beauty, like her daughter and granddaughter. Even as she aged, she retained her looks—dark hair and complexion, exotic and graceful. Though Bane knew she was strong and capable of ruthlessness for the sake of her family, to him she was always soft and indulgent, maternal. Indeed, she had told him before that he was like a son to her, and he viewed her as a surrogate mother. Except for his birth mother, no woman had ever been as kind and caring to him as Maysam.

            After about an hour of conversation, Barsad begged leave. “If you don’t mind, Maysam, I’d like to borrow your driver to take me into Jodhpur.” He grinned at Bane. “I have some shopping to do.”

            Knowing Barsad’s mischievousness well from the days when he was head of her husband’s security, Maysam’s soft brown gaze danced between the two men. “Shopping?”

            “Yes,” Bane said. “Barsad has vowed to make this a memorable Christmas for Talia. He claims to be an expert in the art from his childhood days in America.”

            “Well,” Maysam said, “if my brother were still in the room, he would remind you that this is not a Christian household, but I know your efforts for my granddaughter are not based on religious beliefs.” Her smile broadened. “You must share your plans with me. I will help in any way I can to make Talia’s visit special. As Haris said, she seemed quite dispirited when I talked to her on the phone earlier.”

            Barsad held up a hand. “No need for anyone’s help. I’ve got this covered, and I prefer to make it all a bit of a surprise for everyone. Just lend me your car and driver, and I’ll be back in a few hours with everything we need.”

#

            While Barsad was gone, Bane spent his day mainly at leisure. After he communicated with the League’s regional commanders in Asia, North America, and Europe, receiving updates on various operations, large and small, he strolled the courtyards and gardens of the palace compound, enjoying the sun and mild weather. He read, napped, and visited again with Maysam later in the afternoon. Anything to keep his mind occupied, trying not to dwell too eagerly upon his reunion with Talia. They had not seen each other in a year, but it seemed like a decade.

            When he returned to the guesthouse after leaving Maysam, he was greeted at the door as always by Hisham, his private servant whenever visiting here. The sixty-year-old Muslim wore a displeased look, and Bane could guess its origin when he heard Barsad cursing from the second floor where their rooms were located.

            “Sir,” Hisham said in a low voice, “Mr. Barsad has brought a _Christmas_ tree here. If Mr. Amir or his wife hear of this—”

            “You mustn’t concern yourself, Hisham. These trappings are for Talia, and whatever is for Talia is acceptable to your mistress. It is she who has the final say in such things, as you know, not Amir or Ayman, not when it comes to Talia.”

            Hisham frowned, unconvinced that he would not somehow be held accountable for these infidels’ transgressions. “Can I get anything for you, sir?”

            “No, Hisham. I will check on my wayward, profane brother and see what he is up to. I require nothing until suppertime. Thank you.”

             Bane expected to find Barsad in his room, but instead he located him in his own suite. His friend was in the process of struggling a six-foot evergreen into place in a corner of Bane’s bedroom, near the glass doors that led to his private veranda.

            “Where on earth did you find a Christmas tree in Jodhpur, brother?”

            With a grunt, Barsad straightened and stepped back to view the tree, pine needles sprinkled about his brown hair and shoulders. “Jodhpur _does_ have a Christian population, you know.”

            “Yes, I am well-aware of that, but…” He scanned the small pile of cardboard boxes near the open veranda doors. “What is all this?”

            “Can’t have a tree without decorations,” Barsad smiled. “But should we decorate it now or wait for Talia? She might enjoy doing that.”

            “I’m sure she would.”

            “But it might also be nice to have it decorated and lit up when she first sees it. A better surprise than just seeing a bare tree. What d’you think?”

            Bane sighed and sat on his broad, comfortable bed. “I think a bedroom is a strange place for a tree, brother.”

            “Yeah, maybe. But I thought then she can look at it when she’s bored with you in bed.” He grinned licentiously.

            “How very droll of you,” Bane growled.

            Barsad chuckled. “C’mon. It’ll be nice to have in here with the lights on at night. She’ll love it.”

            “She will appreciate your effort, yes.”

            “Well, now,” Barsad wiped his hands together, “I’m not the only one who’s gonna put effort into this.”

            “I have gifts for her, of course.”

            “I’m not talking about presents.”

            “I have no desire to trim a tree, brother.”

            “I had something more important in mind for you.”

            Bane scowled. “I have a feeling I don’t want to hear any more.”

            “I’m telling you, she’ll love it. You want something memorable for her; trust me, this will be memorable…for all of us.” His grin widened with eagerness as he began to open one of the larger boxes.

            Bane curbed another protest, for he realized how much this holiday distraction meant for Barsad. Obviously his friend had put considerable thought and effort into his Jodhpur foray. This was indeed not merely for Talia but for all of them, as Barsad had said. So in deference to his brother’s feelings, Bane kept silent.

            “Now,” Barsad said, still bent over the box, “don’t immediately say no, like I know you will. Have an open mind, and remember this is for the woman you love.”

            When Barsad turned around, he held a red velvet coat with fuzzy white trim.

            “No,” Bane said.

            “I told you not to say that, damn it.”

            “Talia is a grown woman.”

            “Really? I never noticed.” Barsad rolled his eyes. “You’ve said yourself many times how bad you’ve felt about her never having a normal childhood. She’ll appreciate this.” He gave the Santa suit a gentle shake and held it toward Bane.

            Bane waved his hand. “You wear it.”

            “I’m not big enough; this would fit you perfect. C’mon, Scrooge, she’ll get a kick out of it; I know she will, especially if you wear it. You’re the last person she would expect this from, and that’s why it needs to be you.”

            “Were you drinking in Jodhpur, Barsad?”

            “Don’t be a proud, selfish prick, brother. Wear the damn suit for her. We’ll surprise her. It’ll be great. She’ll never forget it.”

            “This is nonsense.” Bane got to his feet, crossed his arms. “She will think me ridiculous.”

            “The hell she will. She’ll love it.”

            “No. I refuse to look like a fool.”

            “You refuse to _look_ like one, but you don’t mind _acting_ like one.”

            Bane’s eyes narrowed, and his fists clenched.

            “Now, Santa, don’t go punching your elf just because he’s saying shit you don’t wanna hear.”

            “Decorate your tree, Barsad, but that suit will remain in the box.” With that, he gathered up his crochet hook and yarn from his bedside table and stalked out to the veranda.

#

            That night Bane tossed and turned in bed, his thoughts upon Talia, anticipating her arrival. He wanted her to call him when she arrived at the airport, but he knew she would not, for she would think him asleep and would not want to disturb him.

            At one point, he threw back his blanket and sat up in bed, huffing in frustration. His fingers unconsciously caressed the coarse, handwoven blanket, a beloved article that had once belonged to Melisande. Her husband had given it to her as a gift many years ago, and Bane had carefully preserved it since Melisande’s death. When Rā’s al Ghūl had exiled him, Rā’s had reclaimed the blanket and given it to Talia. Once Rā’s had died, though, Talia returned it to Bane, a gesture that had touched him deeply, for losing the blanket had been like losing Melisande again.

            Bane’s attention drifted to the Christmas tree in the corner. Its small, multi-colored lights twinkled silently, peacefully in the dark, reflected on the veranda’s glass doors. Garlands of tinsel shimmered, and a white star perched atop the tree, reminding Bane of Akar’s star. Bane had to admit Barsad had transformed the evergreen from something thin and shabby to something pleasant and appealing. The colorful presents at the base of the tree further offered a sense of transformation. He had asked Barsad to wrap Talia’s gifts, and his friend had done so sulkily, still displeased with his commander’s refusal to wear the Santa suit.

            Leaving the bed, Bane wrapped Melisande’s blanket around his bare shoulders. The night had cooled down considerably. He shuffled over to the veranda doors, which had been left partially open when he had retired. After closing them, he stood staring through the night toward the distant palace, to the room where Talia always stayed when she visited. No light from within. Had she not arrived yet or had she already gone to sleep? He closed his eyes and smiled at the thought of her warm, naked body between silk sheets. Tomorrow…tomorrow he hoped she would be between his sheets.

            He pulled the blanket tighter around him, thought again of Melisande, of that first Christmas when he had told Talia about Santa Claus. Melisande had not resented his sharing of a Christian ritual with her daughter. Anything that made Talia laugh and smile was acceptable to Melisande. Melisande herself had fallen away from her religion after being in prison, a way to punish her fanatically devout father; that is what Bane had always suspected anyway.

            Unwittingly Bane’s attention drifted back to the tree then to the box that contained the Santa suit. Of course Barsad had left it here, but he had been wise enough to discontinue badgering his commander about wearing it. Bane looked again toward Talia’s room, tugged at the blanket. What would Melisande say if she were here? Would she agree with Barsad that he was being selfish and proud by refusing to wear the suit? Yet what if he did and Talia’s reaction was one of embarrassment instead of amusement? He never wanted to look foolish in front of her. Foolishness was a weakness, and he must always appear strong to her so she would feel safe.

            Sighing in frustration, he returned to bed. For some time, he lay there, staring at the ceiling. It was not until he looked at the tree and its cheerful lights that his eyelids at last began to sag, his body slowly relaxing, until at last he drifted to sleep.

#

            “Bane, Talia’s coming across the courtyard!” Barsad shouted from the doorway of Bane’s suite. “Are you still in bed?”

            “I’m just getting out of the shower,” Bane called from his bedroom. “Greet her, brother, and bring her to me.”

            Bane smiled to himself as he dressed, his fingers trembling with anticipation. The veranda doors stood open again, allowing the morning sunlight and warmth to flow in. A gentle breeze tickled the tinsel on the Christmas tree, the lights dimmed by the sun but still lit.

            Soon he heard Hisham’s distant voice welcoming Talia downstairs in the reception hall, answered by the music of her voice in reply. Then the tap of her shoes as she hurried up the stairs, Barsad calling his hello to her from the top of the steps, her happy reply ringing out. Bane hurried to finish.

            Barsad’s words came clearer now as he brought Talia inside the suite, “What the hell’s keeping you, brother? Talia’s here.”

            “I am just about finished. Why don’t you both come in?”

            Soon the door to his bedroom swung completely open, and Talia halted in the doorway, staring at him, Barsad agape behind her.

            “Ho, ho, ho!” Bane tried his best to sound enthusiastic from where he sat in a chair next to the Christmas tree, dressed in Barsad’s Santa suit. “Merry Christmas!”

            For an instant Talia was speechless, and Bane feared her shock would turn to horror, but then a smile spread across her flawless oval face, and she clasped her hands together in delight, bringing them to her lips. “Bane!” she said. “Is that you?”

            “Bane?” he echoed. “Why, no, dear child, I am Santa Claus. Come sit on my lap and tell me what you wish for Christmas.”

            Behind Talia, Barsad was doing his best to restrain a bout of laughter, which turned his face red.

            Talia glanced slyly at Barsad. “Who’s idea was this?”

            “Ask Santa.” Barsad gestured toward him.

            Talia’s positive reaction allowed Bane to relax and embrace the moment. He waved her forward. “Come, come, child. Tell me all.”

            “Yeah,” Barsad winked, “Santa can’t wait for you to sit on his lap, dirty old man that he is.”

            Talia giggled and quickly crossed the room. She wore a conservative pale pink shirt with three-quarter-length sleeves. A scarf of the same color with blue designs draped around her neck, having been pushed back from her head once she entered the guesthouse. Her jeans fit her well without being too tight for her grandmother’s tastes. As she played her part and settled on Bane’s lap, she grinned and put an arm around his neck. Her warmth and softness, her scent and closeness instantly aroused him, but he managed to maintain the ridiculous persona.

            “Santa,” Talia stroked his false whiskers, “your beard seems a bit…loose.” She gently tugged it but did not pull it away from his mask.

            “Don’t be impertinent, child. Tell me what you want for Christmas.” His smile filled his eyes.

            She kissed his forehead below the white trim of his red hat. “I have everything I want, Santa, right here—you and Barsad and _Jiddah_. Why would anyone want more?”

            “Aside from your grandmother, you aren’t asking for much, young lady. Perhaps my scruffy elf will reach under this tree and find something for you.”

            Still grinning with disbelief and shaking his head, Barsad rooted about beneath the tree and emerged with Talia’s presents. He handed his to Talia first.

            “I have presents, too,” she said as if suddenly remembering. “Barsad, would you fetch them from the other room? They’re in the bag I left there.”

            As Barsad obeyed, Talia and Bane took advantage of the brief privacy and embraced.

            She kissed his temple, whispered, “Thank you for this, _habibi_.”

            “Open Barsad’s present,” he urged, surprisingly not ready to yet abandon his role as Santa.

            With Barsad back in the room and Talia’s bag deposited near the tree, she proceeded to open her gift, remaining on Bane’s lap. She unwrapped the box to discover an exquisite pair of black gloves, made from the softest of leathers, and a black and white Coach purse.

            “Maysam suggested that,” Barsad said. “I’m afraid I’m not a purse connoisseur. I’d like to take credit, but I can’t.”

            “It’s gorgeous, John. Thank you.”

            She took the adhesive green bow from the purse’s box and affixed it to Bane’s Santa hat, her dimples deepening as she giggled.

            Next she unwrapped the first of Bane’s gifts—a red silk scarf and ruby earrings to match. She admired them, thanking him, before tossing aside the scarf she currently wore so she could wear Bane’s instead. Then she opened the second box. Bane held his breath, for he knew she would be displeased with the gift’s expense, but he hoped its beauty would win her over. And since it was a gift, surely she would indulge him.

            Her breath caught as she pulled the jewelry case from amidst the tissue paper. “Cartier! Bane, you shouldn’t have.”

            “Again you speak of this Bane,” he said. “These gifts are from Santa.”

            Teasingly, she narrowed her blue eyes. “Santa’s workshop is stepping up in the world.”

            “Open it, my dear.”

            As she did so, her eyes widened, and her jaw dropped. “Oh…” Reverently she removed the necklace from the box. Two strands of the yellow gold chain hung down from the main section of the necklace, where they would dangle between the wearer’s breasts. The chains were adorned with brilliant-cut diamonds, apple-green chrysoprase, and ultramarine lapis lazuli, each within small, round settings, with the majority of the stones upon the vertical chains.

            “Great job, brother,” Barsad deadpanned. “Your gift just made mine look like a piece of shit.”

            “Bane,” Talia breathed, fondling the necklace. “This must have cost thousands.”

            Over twenty-five thousand, but he would never tell her that.

            “Miranda Tate must look the part as she rubs shoulders with Gotham’s elite,” he said, now forsaking his act and removing the hat and beard. “And around the people she intends to destroy, she might as well wear something her humble servant gifted her. I rather enjoy the irony, don’t you?”

            She pretended to be slighted. “So this is for Miranda Tate, not for me?”

            “If I told you it was for Talia, you would continue to insist it too extravagant for someone in the League, an organization that shuns such vain possessions. But if I tell you it’s for Miranda Tate, you will accept it as a part of your disguise, will you not?”

            She looked to Barsad, who shrugged and said, “He has a point. But we both know damn well that Bane got it for you, Talia. Don’t listen to his bullshit.”

            “Brother, how many times must I reprimand you for your offensive language in front of our sister?”

            “That’s right, John,” Talia teased. “And on Christmas.”

            Bane nodded to the necklace. “Let me put it on you, _habibati_.”

            She removed the scarf, draping it around his neck with an impish smile. Her long dark hair was pinned up, offering him easy access to her lovely long neck. Once the necklace clasp had been fastened, Talia straightened the jewelry.

            “I must see it in the mirror,” she said with the excitement of a youngster and left Bane’s lap to stand before the full-length mirror on his closet door. “It’s magnificent, Bane. But you truly shouldn’t have.”

            “I see you but once a year. Allow me to indulge you.”

            Talia came back to embrace him and kiss his mask. “Thank you, _habibati_. I love it…and you.” She turned to the bag she had brought and knelt before Bane. “Now it’s time for you to open my gifts.”

            For Barsad, she had purchased a solid gold cigarette lighter, engraved with his initials, and for Bane an Oyster Perpetual Day-Date gold Rolex watch. Engraved on the back was, “To Haris, with love, T.”

            “And you scolded me for the expense of my gift for you,” he scoffed, admiring the timepiece in his hands.

            “I know it still cost only a fraction of what you paid for my necklace.” Talia’s graceful fingers fondled the diamonds.

            Bane put the watch on his left wrist. It fit perfectly. “Thank you, _habibati_. I will treasure it.” He leaned forward in his chair to caress her cheek before he stood. “Now you must excuse me while I get out of this suit. It’s beginning to make me itch.”

            “Thank you for indulging me, Bane. I can only imagine how difficult it was for you to do this.”

            “Think nothing of it. Besides, I must give credit for all of this to Barsad.”

            “Maybe so, and I thank you, John, but I know even you can’t force Bane to do something he doesn’t willingly want to do, so…”

            “No truer words have been spoken,” Barsad said, getting to his feet. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to try out this new lighter on my veranda.”

            When Bane emerged from his bathroom, he wore loose-fitting linen pants and a white t-shirt, his feet bare. Talia still sat by the tree, admiring her gifts and the decorations. She smiled up at him as he drew near and sat beside her. He could see that emotions had caught up to her, subduing her. Taking his hand in hers, she kissed it.

            “Thank you again, Bane.”

            “My pleasure, little mouse.”

            She touched the necklace. “I meant what I said, though. There is no better gift than being here with you.”

            “I feel the same, of course.” He put his arms around her, drew her close as they admired the tree. “Barsad is a cheeky bugger, but he means well.”

            “He does. I’m so glad he’s with you while I can’t be.”

            “Someday we will be back together again. If I have my way, you will never leave my side. But that, of course, will be your choice, not mine.”

            “I already dread going back to Gotham. But at least now when I do, I will have this memory to carry with me.” She smiled up at him, the sunlight through the doors catching the diamonds of her necklace. “You’ve made this the best Christmas ever, Bane. I shall never forget it.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this year's (2015) Christmas story. And if you haven't already read my other Bane stories here, I hope you will check them out. You can learn more about Maysam and her relationship with Bane/Barsad/Talia in those stories.


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